Ironic
by Suffering Artist
Summary: Drabble Two: It's A Death Row Pardon Two Minutes Too Late. People died last summer. Most of them innocent, some more guilty than others. Understand Kitazawa? You hold nothing over me.
1. It's A Black Fly in Your Chardonnay

Welcome to my very first Gravitation fanfiction. This is a collections of drabbles inspired by one liners from the song "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette. If you have the means, I highly reccomend listening to the full song. It can be found on her CD "Jagged Little Pill"

So, without furthur ado I bring to you and hop you enjoy:

**Ironic**

It's A Black Fly in Your Chardonnay. By Suffering Artist

* * *

Sarcasm came to Yuki like a second language he'd studied since birth. Many colored or dimwitted comments were left shot down by his harsh words and playfully poetic sentences. He had a way of keeping the tone light, the words long, and the riddle confusing. He had a way of smiling and waiting patiently, until five minutes later his victim would burst with outrage at realizing the hidden insult. He had a way of doing it daily, and the routine never got boring. 

So when his small bundle of energy was standing out the balcony doors, leaning quietly over the railing for more than an hour, Yuki took immediate pleasure in pestering the boy. Setting down his freshly poured glass of Chardonnay, he strolled quietly to the doorway.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly, lighting up a cigarette.

"I'm thinking about what I want." Shuichi smiled, staring at the horizon and the twinkling city around him.

Yuki raised one eyebrow and perched himself on the top bar of the safety rail and inhaled the nicotine. "And what is it that you want, Shuichi?" He asked, letting go of the smoke in the direction of the sunset horizon.

Shuichi's bright purple eyes were full of imagination. "I want to… fly." His sentence ended suddenly and looked at his lover with sharp realization, as though discovering something unpleasant.

"You want to fly? What are you Shindo, six?" He flicked the cigarette and muttered amusingly under his breath, "Super Shuichi, to the rescue."

"No!" Shuichi said impatiently and turned in a one-hundred and eighty degree circle, facing the entrance back into the house. "_Fly_!"

"I get it Sherlock, you want to fly. What's that about then? Just randomly imagined being a bird, did you?"

Shuichi's indignant little squeak and the flush on his cheeks as he threw Yuki a dirty look made the author want to burst into laughter. "I mean that a fly just flew into our house you bastard!"

Yuki felt his jaw drop into a look of shock at his lover's stupidity. Rubbing a long finger over one of his slick blond brows, he shook his head and replied, "Then kill it, by all means."

Not actually expecting Shuichi to head the order, Yuki looked at the sky and pleaded with the gods to strike him dead as he watched the pink-haired teen scuttle inconspicuously into the apartment and hum the Mission Impossible theme under his breath. There was a hard look on the singers face as he clung to the walls, keeping his eyes trained on the flitting fly, and groping around for a swatter to strike down the beast.

Yuki pulled himself into the doorway between his balcony and his home. Amused, he smiled against the cigarette in his mouth as he watched Shuichi crawl forwards towards his prey, holding the yellow swatter aloft, looking for all the world like the most inexperienced assassin in Japan.

"Just shoo him towards me Shuichi."

"No! Then he'll probably land on you and infest your with his nasty fly germs."

Yuki turned and asked, "Have you been listening to that band-mate of yours, that Fujisaki kid?" Shuichi's silence told him yes. Yuki turned to face his lover with a smirk on his lips. "I told you, he tells you crap like that to make you freak out about the most idiotic things."

"But they're germy!"

"Yeah," Yuki said in his best matter-of-fact voice. "And you didn't brush your teeth his morning. That's germy too."

Shuichi immediately ran his tongue along his teeth and covered his mouth in embarrassment.

"Point is, Shuichi, you won't die from a fly." And then he thought better of the statement. "Unless you swallow one, then it might kill you."

"Yuki!" Shuichi stomped a little foot as hard as he could. Against the heavily padded carpeting, there wasn't much noise to the gesture, and Yuki had to laugh. "That's not funny! Stop telling me that bullshit and maybe I won't get scared!"

"Don't talk to me! Talk to your friend!" Yuki held up his arms in mock surrender.

Leaving the boy to his antics, Yuki turned towards his bottle of Chardonnay, which he'd procured from his cupboard before realizing that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of his lover, and the unusual occurrence had brought him away from the beautiful wine.

"Now if you want to waste your time, why don't you waste it trying out different wines? That's a real hobby." Yuki said over his shoulder to the hyperactive teen in the living room.

But Shuichi wasn't listening, he had gasped loudly, pointed with a definite twitch in his eyes towards Yuki. Yuki eyes widened in shock and anger. The fly, once buzzing pleasantly, had now decided to bathe in a glass of Yuki's best Chardonnay. The fly was, regrettably, flopping around in Yuki's swallow of wine, ruining the drink with his germy fly body, hairy little tentacles, and many eyes. Yuki swallowed noisily and gasped in disgust.

Shuichi made a face. "Eew… you ate it."

"Really? Because I didn't recognize the feel of the little body inside my mouth!" Yuki spat a gob of saliva into the sink and felt nauseous thinking about what he'd just eaten. "And _I_ would have let the little bastard go…"

Shuichi's mouth opened wider, and then, very slowly, he stared to laugh at the irony. "You… would have let… him go!" He managed to gasp through his hysterics. "What a stupid fly!"

Yuki grimaced and spat again. "Doesn't matter." He wiped his mouth and shuddered. "I think I'll go brush my teeth though. A few times. Maybe swallow some Listerine."

Shuichi didn't follow him, instead, he turned towards the living room and flopped dramatically on the couch. He heard Yuki making gargling, brush, and swallowing sounds from the Master Bathroom. As Yuki emerged, still looking disgusted and shocked, he saw his little singer staring intently at the ceiling, just as he'd been doing to the horizon minutes ago.

"What are you thinking about, Shuichi?" he asked for the second time that day.

"I'm thinking about what I want." Shuichi replied, smiling slightly at the déjà vu.

Yuki lay himself next to the teen. Enveloping Shuichi on the small leather couch, he hugged his tiny teenager close and whispered in his ear. "So what is it that you really want?"

Shuichi's contented hum vibrated between them. "I want so much…" He turned his mouth towards Yuki's ear and gave it a warm nibble.

Yuki flushed and growled, "I think I can help."

* * *

Critique? 


	2. It's A Death Row Pardon

I'm really hoping that everyone enjoys this enstallment. Please let me know what you think!

It's A Death Row Pardon Two Minutes Too Late

* * *

The giants that loomed above me, dark and huge and covered in a vulgar scent of body odor and lust, made me scream before they'd even touched me. In the corner, I heard my teachers voice grumble with laughter as he said something so quiet I couldn't make it out. I begged for him to come and save me, and it was only when my shirt had been unbuttoned, the belt removed and snap undone, did he come and look at me, a glint of malice in his eyes.

His breath smelt of cheap, sour wine, almost as putrid and frightening a scent as the odor of my assaulters. I remember clearly the way he smiled at me coldly, and in those seconds I realized that there was no way he was going to save me. I was doomed to this fate, and the thought made me cry.

"A real wimp you've got here, Yuki." Said one of the men, stroking my face with a thick and calloused finger.

"But a beautiful wimp, all the same." Replied my teacher as he pulled another drink from the long necked bottle of wine. "Have fun boys, but don't break him. I want that pleasure for myself." He leaned impossibly closer to my ear, and whispered to me, "I want to watch your hope, your innocence, leave those extraordinary eyes. I want to see you break and curl inside yourself. Stay alive for me, Eiri." As he backed away, he kissed my cheek softly.

I cried harder. "Kitazawa-sensei! Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed.

He kept his back turned towards me as he replied. "Because you asked for it." Then he went back to his corner to listen and watch.

It was in the coming moments when several things happened very quickly. First, I noticed the glint of a small revolver tucked into the waistband of one mans pants. Unthinkingly, I reach out for it and pulled it out of his grasp, pushed back on the safety to shoot, and pointed it directly at his face. His shock was only registered for a moment before I blew his face clean off and turned on the next man, who'd had the time to yell out before two bullets found his chest.

In a second, I had scrambled to my feet, kicked Kitazawa in the face while he was on his way to stand, and pointed the gun at him. He smiled, proudly, happily, somehow mixing his eyes with every emotion that I hated to see in that moment on his smug face. I wanted to hurt him for seeming pleased with my performance. "Kill me Eiri, please; it will be easier than living with this memory."

"Go to hell. I pray the devil will force you to watch it over and over again."

His smile frightened me. "Yes. I suppose he will."

I shot him, two in the chest, and one in the head.

And for minutes that felt like tiny eternities, I stared at his corpse, leaking blood from the holes in his skin. The gun shook in my hands, threatening to fall, but somehow clinging to me with eerie hold.

Then suddenly, Tohma was there, comforting me and lying about how everything would be okay. I dropped the gun then. Falling to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably. Everything would never be okay.

I often wondered in the years after, what would have happened if Tohma had been there just minutes earlier, able to stop the madness, stop me from committing murder, stop everything that would loom about my memories for years to come.

If he had been there, would Yuki Kitazawa be dead right now? Would death have been prevented by the only sane man in that building?

Tohma was the walking Death Pardon, two damn minutes, too damn late.

I cry myself to sleep with guilt, for playing the blame game.

It really wasn't Tohma's fault. I was the one who decided to pull the fucking trigger.

I remember therapy, commencing immediately upon coming home, and lasting for about three years before I called it off and moved to Tokyo in a fit on insanity (though, it was probably the best decision of my life). One year after starting, I remember taking a journal assignment from the doctor.

He told me to write down what happened, maybe reiterate it through another person's point of view. It was his way of getting me to vent the emotions that were "damaging my soul", as he put it, while still using my intense love of writing as a "cleansing" outlet that I could connect to. The loon.

I remember my journal entries, and I know somewhere, locked deep within my study, I still have the notebook. For the days when the pain is too much and I need to write it down, or for the day when I finally decide to face up to my fears.

It reads like this:

_People died last summer. Most of them innocent, some more guilty than others._

_And people killed last summer. None of them innocent. I know. I was one of them. I stared down the slim barrel of a gun, looked into eyes rabid with fear and hatred and saw my reflection. Pulled the trigger to make it go away._

_I heard the echoes of my gunshots, smelled the cordite, and in the smoke I saw my reflection and knew I always would._

It was the ending to my first best-seller.

Understand, Kitazawa? You hold nothing over me.

* * *

Critique?


End file.
